


yield to the moment

by ButcherKnives



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, POV Second Person, Requests, Romance, Various Genres/Kinks Will Be Tagged Each Chapter, amab reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButcherKnives/pseuds/ButcherKnives
Summary: Nero's glow is ethereal when the swell of your voices reach a crescendo, and loosened, giggling your pleasure when he takes your swollen lips in another candlelit kiss, you melt into him wholly. You drown beneath his love.━A collection of drabbles and headcanons requested by readers from Tumblr. Genres vary and individual warnings/ratings will apply.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Nero (Devil May Cry)/Reader, V (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 129





	1. Sparda Twins: Breeding Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> So this is going to be a place where I gather all of the requests I fulfill from Tumblr. A sort of archive of my own, if you will. _*wonk*_ These will be unrelated one-shots, stand-alone works, and headcanon posts for Dante, Vergil, Nero, and V, or any combination.
> 
> First up is the very first thing I published on Tumblr under this account!
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **AFAB reader** , breeding kink, creampie, NSFW

##  **Dante**

He isn’t the type to be overly aggressive in the bedroom, preferring the sweet push-pull reciprocation of giving and receiving. (What can he say? He loves to hear you cry out for him in your sweet, eager desire.) However, when indulging in a more specific brand of pleasure, he becomes notably more assertive.

Neither of you have talked about wanting children but he looks at you and says he wants to stuff you, that you’ll take all of his cum without a condom. You can’t wait.

Already quite talkative, he loves to praise you as you take everything he gives. He tells you what a good girl you are while he licks the shell of your ear and rocks his massive dick deep inside of you.

His weighted, calloused hand stays on your breastbone, holding you down as you observe the way his brows knit. He’s too strong to resist, not that you want to when he’s hitting you in all the places that make you see stars behind your eyes.

“Babe,” he rasps, husky and deep. “I wanna hear you beg for me.”

And oh, how you love to beg for him.

He can’t get enough of you; he _has_ to put his mouth on you. His lips taste your jaw, your neck, your mouth as he captures you in a searing kiss and doesn’t _stop_ , doesn’t _fucking_ _**stop**_ pistoning into your wet heat.

God, when the sound of your sex slapping mixes with the protest of the squeaking bed, he rides you faster. He’s slamming into you with abandon and he warns you of his climax as he calls you such pretty, pretty names.

When he comes, it’s with a low growl that rumbles in his chest. He bares his teeth and bites your shoulder as he squeezes you tight, and you bury your face beneath the crook of his chin. His hips stutter for a few extra pumps while you ride out your high with a scream of ecstasy.

You feel his seed shoot warm and thick inside of you and you clench around him, milking every last drop until he’s entirely empty. God, but there’s so much that it dribbles past his shaft while he pulls out, and you can feel it leak back out of your fluttering hole.

Dante watches with a grin. He reaches down to touch the mix of your juices with his cum, parts your labia to watch it drip, licks his lips and tells you with a pointed smirk.

“Beautiful. _Yep_ , it suits you.” He leans forward to run his tongue along your throat. “But! Looks like we’re gonna need another round to make sure you got enough inside ya.” And when he winks, cheeky, painfully attractive with his hair disheveled and chest touched pink with pleasure, you devote your body to him the way you desperately desire.

##  **Vergil**

There’s always a simmering authority in every sexual encounter the two of you share, but when he’s interested in exploring his more base urges - like filling you with his cum until you bear his fruit - he grows impatient.

He pushes you against a wall and nips a necklace of bruises into your throat. He’s possessing you, making you his as he tears your clothes off of you without hesitation, without pretense. You gasp and bend to his will.

Usually so composed, you don’t think you’ve seen this side of him and it makes your mouth salivate. He’s inside of you, pushing in deep, his thick erection pulsing, and you can barely hang on. Your skin feels overwhelmingly feverish.

“I’m staking my claim,” he hisses against your ear as he grips your thighs and leads your legs around his waist. He’s holding you up, slamming into you with sharp precision. “You’re mine.”

Is that the sound of the drywall cracking? You’re being fucked too stupid to care.

From your perch, he carries you to the sofa where he flips you onto your hands and knees, then holds a fistful of your hair in an unforgiving grip. You ride him like you were made for it; you ride him like you can’t get enough.

Your body is on fire when he finally releases his seed. It’s a rush of sound, a crescendo that stretches across the space of the room. Has he ever been so noisy? Have _you_?

“That’s right,” he says on a long exhale. “Take it all.”

You don’t expect praise and you don’t receive any. You do, however, get rewarded for being deliciously obedient with an all-consuming kiss that steals the air from your labored lungs.

He orders you to put your panties back on, to hold his cum inside of you lest you lose the chance to fully bloom. His voice is decadent, a velvet purr you can’t resist.

You don’t hesitate to do as you’re told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Nero x Shy Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  Hello! I saw that you’re accepting requests 👀 Might I ask for some relationship headcanons (up to you if you want to add some smut!) for Nero with a shy reader? Thank you so much if you do and have a nice day! 💘🙈
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Nero  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , fluff

When you first meet, Nero is _positive_ that you’re intimidated. Why else would you have stared at him _like that_ , with those wide doe-eyes that pierce through him? Was it something he did? He dedicates time to re-examining your interaction with a fine-tooth comb because, although he would never admit it, it bothers him to think that he might have been too rude, or too loud-mouthed, or too _something_ when you’d been nothing but kind. He knows you’re the soft-spoken type and that he can come off, _**well**_ \- he’s known to be aggressive. He certainly doesn’t think he’s unpleasant, but he’s self-aware enough to know that he can seem rough around the edges.

He doesn’t realize that you like him; in fact, upon meeting once again, when he goes out of his way to try to make you feel comfortable with a few well-timed sarcastic observations and playful comments, to earn a glimpse of your pretty smile as you smother a laugh behind your hand, he doesn’t notice the way you blush. He can’t. His own heart is bleeding fluorescent warmth into his chest, and he’s glancing away from you while he shifts his weight from side to side. You’re… _really_ cute.

The more that the two of you are together, the more single-mindedly he focuses his attention toward you. He loves to watch you, learns all of your habits like the way you tilt your head when you’re thinking, or the rhythm of your fingers tapping as you bounce your knee in idle. He memorizes you, and _you_ don’t notice. _You_ can’t. His presence is weighted, and this close, you’re overwhelmed by your feelings.

You dance around each other for a while. Nero, who exudes confidence in most areas (by design) is a romantic by nature. He doesn’t want to mess this up; he doesn’t want to put his foot in his mouth or scare you away, so he takes his time. A lot of time. So much time that it’s actually Nico who cuffs him over the back of his head and says, “I can’t deal with this nonsense anymore. If you don’t ask your crush out, I’m gonna kick your sorry ass. You hear me?”

It’s _that_ obvious. It’s mortifying.

Nero asks you out after several months of knowing each other, yet the way that he does it makes your breath catch. He stands in front of you, those ocean eyes roving everywhere, _anywhere_ that isn’t you. “Listen, I… was wondering…” is how he starts, and he’s self-conscious, as if _you’re_ the terrifying one. “D’you wanna - _eh_ \- get some… ice cream with me?” He ruffles his hair in his embarrassment and you can feel your hands trembling as you push out a hushed yes. _**Yes!**_

Is this _real_? Your heart **hammers** and you think you must be dreaming. You? With _Nero_? He’s smiling at you as he swipes at his nose, as if to hide the delight that glitters in his eyes, and your chest swells. He’s… _really_ cute. He holds out his hand and you take it, dropping your chin with a demure, feathered smile of your own. He laces your fingers together, threaded neatly, perfectly, and while you’re reeling, he begins to lead you away.

He treats you with soft adoration. This man who feels his emotions too powerfully, with a short frustration threshold and jagged anger; this man who can’t keep a cell phone without shattering the screen after a week; this very same man who obliterates his enemies with his cocky swagger and pointed grin; it’s _you_ who Nero affords tenderness and miles of patience.

Where you lack confidence, he picks up. If you’re too nervous to speak to someone when you’re out together, too shy to put yourself in the spotlight, he’s more than willing to do the talking. He’ll shield you when there’s too much noise, hold you when sadness fills you, and does everything in his power to lend you courage. To help you build your own.

Because you don’t always tell him what’s on your mind, Nero has a habit of making assumptions. You didn’t say no to the movie he’d chosen, for example, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily preferred it over the other options. It takes time, but Nero learns to prompt you for your thoughts before he makes decisions. He begins to temperature check, to focus on you when you seem to be going along with whatever adventure he’s laid out.

_**You become his top priority.** _

And he loves you. And he would do _anything_ for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a sweet prompt and I truly enjoyed fulfilling the request.
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Sparda Men: Clothing/Behavior Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  If you're still doing request, can I ask for one? 🤔 What kind of clothing or behaviour would yoh think the dmc lads have a kink for?
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil, Nero  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **AFAB Reader** , NSFW

****

##  **Dante**

As Dante would tell you, every version of you is his favorite. Anything you wear, any way you act; he **always** wants you. Your beauty, your attention, your soft whimpers or the crescent moon sting of your nails in his back - every inch of you is pure _perfection._

What he thoroughly enjoys, however, is unexpected reciprocation. Those magnificent moments where _you_ seek him out, place your hand on his chest with a sultry stare and tell him how badly you want him. How wholly you ache for him.

He lives for the thrill of you leading him down to pave an avenue of kisses along the length of his body. Over his arteries, or at each juncture where you run your blunt teeth and trace patterns with your tongue. It’s _that_ he truly can’t resist.

Each slide of your warm hand following the thick muscles of his chest, down, down the valleys of his abdomen until you slowly encircle your fingers around the girth of his heavy erection; all of it sends him over the edge.

If you’ve dressed up for him, particularly in a sweet babydoll - crimson, he notes with a lopsided grin - the effort you’ve put in does not go unnoticed. He praises you, calls you beautiful, sexy, _baby_ and brushes a stray hair from your face while you sheath his dick inside of you and ride him, tears glittering in your eyes.

More than anything, what Dante loves are your pretty sounds of bliss because even now, this is about you. He’ll do anything in his power to pull them from your lips; your euphoria is at the helm.

And oh, how you’ll cry for him.

(It’s eternally you at the center of his universe, devoted since you’ve broken down his barriers and settled your roots deep into the shadowed pit of his lonely heart. _**You**_.)

****

##  **Vergil**

It surprises you at first, as Vergil seems to enjoy your obedience when he’s dismissive of you, or when he tells you just what he wants out of you. It surprises you, but you stumble into it accidentally, and then perhaps it’s not a surprise at all when you find the kink in his armor.

Vergil _loves_ a challenge.

You stand your ground and shoot counter-commands, carrying yourself with haughty arrogance that makes his sharpened glass glare glimmer with recognition. A simple, “What’s this?” and you know he’s drawing a hand into your game.

There is, of course, a limit to his patience, and there is no _cheat_ to beat him into submission, but there’s fire in the way you both dance around his authority while you smirk and simmer; while your energies sync and he pushes you harder.

The key, you’ve found, is to maintain composure. He’ll try to _playfully_ intimidate you by using his size against you, cornering you or crowding close until you feel suffocated by his razor stare, but you can’t bow or concede. No, even when he’s sliding his fingers down your panties to make you squirm, teasing you by reminding you how your body betrays you; how you’re yearning for him and that you _cannot_ hide this.

You have to keep your wits. You have to exhale aloof poison as readily as he does, and when you finally, _finally_ give in, it has to be with a level of pride that tells him who the _**real**_ winner is as you undulate against his purposely, _painfully_ slow pace.

God, he loves it when you make his eyes roll.

****

##  **Nero**

There are several truths in this world Nero avoids speaking aloud from fear of exposing too much, but you learn quickly that what he doesn’t say can still be _read_. He’s too expressive, hilariously so, with a tragically lackluster poker face, and what you glean from trial and error - although, in truth, there are no _errors_ \- is that Nero loves when you play innocent.

You wind him up with syrup and butter; sugary praises and doe-eyed giggles. You dress in pastels and wear your best demure smile as you bat your eyelashes and draw your finger down his arm with a sway of your hips.

You love the way he tries to hide how you’re hitting his buttons. He licks his teeth and turns his head away as if he’s weighing his options. But what you love the most is the moment when he gives in, when he stops fidgeting and seizes you by the waist to push your foreheads together.

“Why d’you gotta do this?” but there’s never any malice in his words as he aligns your bodies until you laugh. The sound of your delight make his eyes shine, crinkling at the corners. And when he kisses you, you can feel the switch from honey to fire.

If you’re pulling out all of the stops, he adores watching you strip. Nothing showy, but he enjoys sitting in front of you while you peel off your clothes. He tells you how gorgeous you are, bites his lip, and holds out his hand with a tip of his chin.

“ _C’mere_.”

You live for the heat in his stare, and he _loves_ the way you melt in his lap. But shit, does he enjoy hearing you talk to him when he’s fucking up into your heat; praising him always gets him to hold you tighter, to ride you harder. In your angelic persona, you say the filthiest words.

You know just how to make him purr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a ton of fun to write.
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Sparda Men: Daddy Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  hey hey hey~ for a prompt, um… 👉👈 could i, perhaps…. request all the guys responding to being called “daddy”? 👀 pls and thank u~~~
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil, Nero  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **AFAB Reader** , daddy kink, **not** DDLG, NSFW

##  **Vergil**

The moment it slips from your lips, the very _instant_ you hear your own voice exhale “ **please, daddy** ” like a reticent prayer, the room shrinks and swallows you whole. A frigid tendril of apprehension snakes through your veins and in the silence that proceeds, you hear only the symphonic rush of blood in your ears accompanying the percussion beat-beat-beat of your heart. It’s mortifying.

The truth is that you know Vergil will judge you; you don’t flatter yourself into believing you’re exempt from his scrutiny, no matter how much softer he’s grown toward you. Beneath him, you release a rippling breath while you flex your fingers, his grip a pleasant weight around your wrists. Your eyes are on each other while you await the inevitable.

_**You don’t expect confusion.** _

You observe the telltale knot in his eyebrows, the way his expression pulls until he’s squinting down at you with evident perplexity. Then, with a tilt of his chin, he says with audible doubt, “What did you call me?”

Sometimes you forget that he doesn’t have immense sexual experience and that, knowing him as you do, he likely hasn’t perused a plethora of porn. This, you decide, isn’t something you want to explain.

You try to get out of it by telling him not to trouble himself, by biting your lip and undulating your hips in hopes of enticing him back into the moment, but that’s the thing about Vergil, isn’t it? He requires answers, even as his eyes flutter closed when you provide the sweet friction his straining cock desires.

He says your name. There’s no authority behind it, no contempt or irritation, yet you snap your focus toward him and innately understand that he’s now weighing your meaning. You catch the moment that it visibly dawns on him; as recognition stretches across his face until his eyes gleam and his lips tug with simmering mirth.

“Because I’m in charge,” he says. “I see.” He looms over you, dipping close until his forehead presses against yours, your eyes dimming. “Well, you’re right. And I suppose it’s worth rewarding your obedience.”

His lips meet yours and you strain against him, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, but the pressure he has on you only increases. You whimper into his mouth as your senses fill with Vergil. Passion alights your core, sparks the pulse of electricity through the crackling warmth, and when he stretches out over you, you feel the nudge of his thick, heavy erection against your entrance.

You jolt. He notices. Vergil withdraws from the kiss with a pop of suction and he looks at you, sultry, intense, smirking as he tips down to purr into your ear. “Beg for me again.”

His breath is warm and your nerves are on edge. You press your cheek to his and swivel your hips, marveling at the hiss this elicits from your lover. And with a long, delirious hum, you speak again, unabashed. “ _Please_.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, _daddy_.”

Ensnared in his hold, he nips your throat and moves into you with a long, all-consuming push, and you are at his mercy.

You are his.

##  **Dante**

There’s a game you like to play that is, in short, _how can you sexually surprise Dante?_ He enjoys this as much as you do, if not more so; he loves the thrill of never knowing what to anticipate, and revels in rolling with the punches you deliver. It’s why when you’re sure the two of you are fully alone, you catch him in the doorway and sidle into his space. Purposeful, gaze sultry, you lick your lips.

He offers a pleased smirk as you grab his belt loops and draw his hips toward yours. “Hey, babe,” he drawls, gaze flitting playfully across your face. “You look like a woman on a mission.”

Oh, and you are. You grin, smoothing your hands up his sides before you coast along the muscular plane of his back. He delights in the attention, sunlight sparkling in his devilish stare while he drops a hand to your waist.

“I’ve been waiting all day to get you alone,” you tell him as you lean into his space. Until you can smell the cheap aftershave that you love on his skin. “I want you, daddy.”

His brows raise, lips parting around a soft o before he snorts his amusement. Yet there’s a real, incredible moment in which you can physically see the interest spark in the depths of his irises. “Daddy, huh?” he says, and his voice takes a husky edge. “Can’t say no to that… Let’s play.”

His hands find your ass, then lower to your thighs as he bends to grab you. You squeak and throw your arms around his shoulders, and when he huffs a quiet laugh right beside your ear, you take a sharp inhale and shiver. Goosebumps prick your arms.

He lifts you, holds you close as you construct his hips with your legs until you can feel the press of his growing erection. The collision of your kiss has you reeling, and the fire he’s emitting suffocates your lungs. Damn, you think, he does like this game.

He’s walking and you’re too turned on to notice where you’re headed. You’re mouthing his neck, licking up and down the column of his throat as he pushes open his bedroom door with his foot. “Damn, babe, you’re distracting,” he says, and you giggle. _Good_. “Gonna make sure you have a good time.”

“Oh,” you smile against his skin. “Please take care of me, daddy.”

He drops you onto the mattress, covering your body with his own. “Don’t you worry, pretty girl. Daddy’s gonna take _reeeal_ great care of you.”

God, you love surprising him.

##  **Nero**

Nero has you on your hands and knees, face pressed into the soft, asphyxiating pillows as he grabs a fistful of your hair. Rough, you think, eyes rolling into the back of your skull in searing pleasure. So unlike him, but you love when you wind him up, coiled so tight that he loses control. His passion burns white hot as he slams into you again, and again, your voice growing tighter, pitching higher, higher, _higher_. His name spills from your lips.

He consumes you wholly.

“You like that?” he asks through labored breaths. “Like being fucked like this?”

Oh _god_ , a long moan rips through your chest as you clutch the sheets for purchase, eyes wound shut. “Yes,” you murmur, unable to think of anything but the way he fills your cunt. “Yes, daddy! Yes!”

He yanks you up by your hair and you gasp, crying out when his unrelenting thrusts hit you harder, deeper, arched up on your trembling arms. “What’d you just say?” There's a dangerous note in his tone that makes your pussy clench.

“Daddy!” you whimper, mouth agape. “Daddy, daddy, daddy.” Your voice trembles around every punctuated slam, throat clicking around your lust.

“Fuck!” He’s groaning, gripping your hip until his fingers dip into the flesh. Your head is tipped so far back that you’re certain you could see him if only you could open your eyes. “ _Shit_ , baby, say that again.”

You’ve hit something. You grin, reaching up to hold onto the headboard. Tears sting; you’re so stuffed. “I looove how you fuck me, daddy!”

As the headboard slams against the wall in time with his rhythm, Nero moans a delicious sound. It seems you’ve struck gold. “Mm,” he gives a tug to your hair and you hiss. “Yeah, keep talkin’.”

And fuck, what fun it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Sparda Men: Size Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  hello hello! love your writing, hope to see more soon 👀 I have a little request if you don't mind: a little size kink/size difference with f!reader and the dmc lads, maybe it's their first time together and reader really wasn't expecting them to be THAT big, well, everywhere 🥵
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil, Nero  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **AFAB Reader** , NSFW

##  **Dante**

Dante has never given your height - or, perhaps more adequately, lack thereof - much thought beyond the occasional realization that he shouldn’t put the dishware as far back in the cabinets as he has in the past. (Wouldn’t want you to knock yourself out with a surprise wayward bowl you couldn’t see from _way_ down there.)

Has he teased you, called you pipsqueak, small fry, and tiny dancer? _Yes_. And although you scoff every single time, he always smiles at you with featherlight affection. You can’t possibly hold your irritation.

It would be a lie to say you hadn’t been interested in his height, although your reasons are of a more nefarious nature. You know that a man’s size doesn’t have to correlate with, well, _other_ parts, but you’ve peeked. Of _course_ you have. And for fuck’s sake, you’re not blind. In fact, more than once, you’ve felt the outline of his penis against you while you’ve sat in his lap and stolen the breath from his lungs.

When the two of you fall into bed with each other for the first time, his voice chocolate in your ear, you find your heart is thrumming. His erection is intimidating down the line of his pants and as you struggle to calm your nerves, you tremble with anticipation.

“You lead,” he tells you as he runs his hands down your bare arms. “Whatever you want, babe, I’m game.”

You don’t hesitate. You slide your palm over the strain of his cock and marvel at the size beneath your touch. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, encouraging you as he otherwise remains as still as he’s able while you explore the shape. Your mouth is watering.

God, but the moment you free his dick, your heart catches in your throat. Nothing could have prepared you for his girth. You brush your fingers along his velvety shaft while he hisses, and you marvel at how you’re unable to touch your thumb to your index finger.

There is no way this will fit into you, you think.

“We go slow,” he says and you realize you’ve spoken out loud. Your cheeks flush pink. “Lube and patience. Lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of both.”

He’s right, you find. As he hovers above you, your arms encircling his neck while he aligns his dick to the heat of your slick cunt, he pushes the marshmallow tip in until he catches around your muscle. He pauses. He waits. He watches your expression and you think you might die when you slap your hand over your mouth to smother your whimpers.

It burns so, so fucking good as he works you open. Further, further, until he’s buried in as far as your cute little pussy can take him.

Shit, you think as he drags his cock back with a slow roll of his hips. You are _unbelievably_ **lucky**.

##  **Vergil**

Vergil is tall, unfairly so, and he uses his size against you more often than not. Nothing overt - no, that isn’t his style - but in the way that he attempts to intimidate you by invading your personal space, his presence weighted by power.

Perhaps, then, it’s no surprise when he utilizes this advantage by crowding you into a wall, palm slammed above your head as he looms over you. “Let’s forgo the games,” he says, and you feel goosebumps tightening your skin. “You want me.”

You swallow, feverish. Yes, you answer before you can deny the truth. Yes, you want him so badly, you can’t stop thinking about him. And as you yield beneath his jagged stare that pins you where you stand, picks apart every vulnerable inch of you until your soul lies bare, you swallow frigid uncertainty.

“Should I indulge you?” he says, his gaze narrowing as if he’s found precisely what he’d sought. _Right there_. “Are you worthy?”

The next several seconds pass in a blur. You’re taking off your clothes while he watches; you think he’d ordered you to, although you can’t hear him over the percussion of your heart in your ears. Is this happening? Can this be real?

He tells you to get to your knees and you obey, your face now hovering beneath the crotch of his pants. Here, you can see the start of his erection; here, you can feel his heat. God, but while you stare, batting your eyelashes and craving his dick, he has his fingers beneath your chin. You tip back to catch his eyes.

You can’t tell what he thinks of you while he rolls his thoughts in his head, yet you sense the shift in his demeanor all the same. He’s tipping his head, mirth lighting his pale, otherworldly gaze, and you bite your lip.

“Well?” he asks, expectant. His brows lift, nodding only once to signal your move.

You don’t hesitate. You’re working him out of his confines, reaching into his clothes to cup his cock in your petite hand. You lick your lips and lead him out of his clothes, adrenaline sparking hot in your lungs, and as you come face-to-face with the thick, pink tip, you can’t help but moan your desire.

He’s massive. You’re throbbing at the sight. You salivate while you slide your hands around his shaft and exhale humidity against his soft skin. Perhaps it would be impossible to get the whole thing into your mouth but as you palm your breast, you want to choke him down. The thought has you spinning.

Eyes dimmed, you give him a curious lick and listen to his quiet, approving hum. With his permission, you part your lips and seal your mouth over him, and when you swallow him down to the back of your throat until you gag, until you’re squirming for air, you feel how wet you are.

You’ve never wanted anything _more_.

##  **Nero**

Nero is protective, not because he thinks you’re weak - no, never that - but because it’s in his nature to shield you from harm. Your size certainly plays a role, although he never admits this to you. You know him well enough to discern, however; especially when he tugs you close and tucks you beneath his chin as if to hide you from the world.

It’s incredible how much he cares for you, and you, likewise. Overwhelming, even, when he smiles at you as if you’re all that he can see and presses kisses to your crown. You sigh your content as he pulls you into an embrace.

When no one else is around, in those rare, private moments, Nero loves to be close. It’s why it’s no surprise to you that when he’s bending down to steal your lips in his own, he’s sliding his hand beneath your shirt. You gasp and allow him to coast up, your shirt bunching with his arm until his hand is grasping your breast.

You’ve dreamt of this moment. Of being trapped beneath him as he rolls on top of you, encasing you between his elbows and swallowing your moans.

You notice how he’s angled his hips away from you, how he’s hovering just out of reach, so you palm his ass and coax him down. You naturally spread your legs, and you jolt when you feel his heavy erection slot into you.

His name is on your lips and he’s groaning, nipping at you while he collects his bearings. “Is this okay?” he asks, but whatever uncertainty he feels is masked by his husky, steady tone.

“Yes,” you tell him.

He sucks bruises into your neck as you rock together. His fingers lace with yours, your right to his left, and you cry out as he applies pressure everywhere. You’re whispering your love to him and you can see the blush that reaches the tips of his ears. You want him wholly.

When you’re both undressed, you take a moment to stare at each other. He calls you cute - he always calls you _cute_. He’s tracing the lines of your body, memorizing the planes and contours while you press a kiss to his chest, and when his hand caresses your pussy, you shiver.

He’s running his finger up and down between your folds, smearing your juices up to your clit until he’s panting his lust into your ear. “Fuck, babe,” he murmurs as he slides a finger in. “You’re so wet.”

You arch your back and whimper, but you notice how his pupils dilate. How he’s staring at you with a wild look in his eye. “You’re really tight.” You shiver, licking your teeth, but he’s playing with your entrance, pumping his finger in and out until he can slip a second inside. When you cry out, he bares his teeth. “Shit. You’re gonna feel so good around me…”

His cock is heavy. Fully erect and bobbing with his movements. He’s right. He’s _right_. You’re incredibly tight; you’re so small. There’s no way, not a damn chance you’ll get **that** into you.

But Nero is thrilled. He’s pumping his fingers into you with noisy, wet squelches while he nips and kisses at your knee, at your thigh until his mouth is between your legs. Until his tongue is brushing against your core.

“Man, you’re even little here.” He hums his pleasure, long and low. “Better loosen you up.” You tremble as you spread yourself wider while he parts you with his fingers. “You gotta be able to take me.” He licks a long stripe and you reach for his hair.

He makes you orgasm and you find, _oh_ , even though he’s broad, he slides into you easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this satisfies~
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Sparda Twins: Pegging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  Hello! Can I request the DMC boys getting pegged by their s/o and being spoiled with aftercare when the session is done? Thank you!! ((There’s not enough bottom boys content lol.))
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , pegging, toys, NSFW

##  **Dante**

Dante is the one who suggests it with a languid grin; easy and calm, because it’s not a big deal, right? He trusts you. Deeply. Irrevocably. He trusts you, and he knows this is nothing you can’t handle.

However you’d like him, he tells you when you agree. “I’m all yours, babe.” He’s nosing your jaw, caressing your hips with his thumbs as his warm breath fans against your skin. “Tell me how you want me.”

You can’t wait to get inside of him the way he desperately craves.

Preparation comes in the form of beads and plugs. You pour lube on the toys, then directly between his round cheeks. God, how he sings for you. “Yeah, baby, just like that.”

You work him open on his hands and knees, gauging his hole with loving kisses peppered down his spine. He’s reactive, deliciously noisy, and as you pump the base of his final tease in, you watch his toes curl, shoulders painted a pretty pink with strained lust.

Your strap is impressive and hangs heavily on your hips. You stroke the dildo, coating it with warming gel, giggling your excitement. Dante watches you with fire kindling in his irises. Oh, he wants you. And _you_ want to hear him scream.

You take him how he takes you: slowly, filling him to the brim, and he moans your name as he’s stretched wide. “That’s right,” he’s saying through a guttural moan. “Give it all to me.”

He bounces on your cock like he was made for it. And fuck, you love how the muscles in his back flex with each thrust.

His thick erection is bobbing between his legs, and when you fall into a rhythm, you reach around his narrow hips and wrap your lubricated hand around him just to hear him shout.

“Yeah, that’s it. Don’t stop,” he says, shuddering. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Your thrusts become quicker, deeper. His moaning grows. Fists curl into the sheets while you milk his dick and hit his prostate over, and over, and over again. He’s dropping his head between his shoulders, ragged breaths smothered by the mattress, and shit, his thighs start to tremble.

You salivate. Fuck, he’s so sexy. A moan escapes your lips in tandem. You’re going to dream of this.

He cums in ribbons with a rumbling groan. He’s fucking into your hand, hole fluttering around your cock, and he’s covered in a beautiful sheen of sweat as he struggles for air. Warmth fills you, observing, waiting until you withdraw with a wet _pop_.

You collapse beside his spent, warm body, running your hands up and down his back, kissing appreciation into every inch of skin you can reach. You praise his enthusiasm. You care for him wholly. “So good for me, baby,” and you hold him close. “I love you so much.”

Dante cuddles into your embrace and kisses your clavicle. “I love you, too.”

##  **Vergil**

Vergil takes _convincing_.

It’s an endeavor that takes months of well timed indicators to warm him up to the idea. When you do - when he _finally_ agrees - it’s with the contingency that you do your research; he’s not looking to end your experiment in disaster. You **readily** concede to his terms.

You purchase a strap and a thin dildo specifically designed to hit the prostate. You admit only to yourself that it’s intimidating in its intricacy, but when you get the harness on, fitted snugly, the base right above your groin, you feel both embarrassed and oddly powerful.

Vergil has assured you that he will do as you request, although he warns you to make sure he doesn’t regret his kindness. You know him well, though - more so than perhaps he even realizes. You _know_ he’s as curious and excited as you are.

He strips as you command, challenge gleaming in his pale irises, but you smile when he’s bare and pointedly ignore the way his stare narrows.

“Is this all for me?” you tease, smoothing your hands across his pecs and down the planes of his abdomen.

You kiss him, smoldering with the desire that grows in your belly. You kiss him, adding more of the flame licking your throat. You kiss him, passion and heat pouring from your lips until he’s pliant to your touch. Until you feel his skin growing warm with pinkened lust. Until you ask him to kneel.

When you coax him down onto the soft sheets, you coat your fingers in lubricant and kiss his thighs. He’s stiff, watching you over his shoulder with leveled interest. You murmur honeyed words and promises of ecstasy while your fingers slip-slide down his ass.

It starts with a single push, coating him with slick, working open his hole until he’s relaxing into you. Then, a second, twisting your fingers, thrusting in and out. You gently nudge in a third. You’re slow, easy, listening to his responses when you seek out his prostate. Spongy, different than the smooth walls; you know you’ve found it when he slams his hands into the mattress. His strength rattles the bed frame.

You hum in your delirium. “You like that, love?”

He doesn’t answer, closing his eyes instead to focus on his breathing. Ah, you’re working him up. This knowledge stretches brightly in your chest.

It takes time until you’re sure that he feels loose. You ask him if he’s ready, and when you receive his confirmation, you slide your soft dildo in his hole.

Something clicks inside of Vergil. As you begin to roll your hips in minute rotations, he pushes back and swallows the toy whole. He’s gritting his teeth, groaning deep as he rides you. His back is stretched, his lips falling open. Oh, you burn as you grip his hips and slam harder. Faster. As his voice grows louder. More desperate.

He shudders around you and orgasms with a long, baritone moan. Thick cum dampens the dark sheets as he spills everything he has, gasping for air, straining with pleasure. And when you giggle, gently pulling out as he grunts, you nudge him down to his back and slide on top of him.

“Well?” you ask, running your hand through his mussed hair while he tips into your touch.

“Mm, bizarre,” he murmurs through a tired sigh. “Unexpected.”

“Fun?”

He raises his hands to cup your cheeks. “ _Unexpected_ ,” he says and you realize that’s as much of a yes as he will confess.

You accept it with a smile, stealing a quick kiss before you curl up against him the way he’s grown to love. Your hands brush along his sides and as his breathing levels, you nuzzle against his chest. “Thank you for indulging me,” you say. “I love you.”

He offers you a groggy half-smile, dropping a large palm onto your head. You think only of how lucky you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. V and Nero: Pegging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  hello! I saw the twins getting pegged and is it ok if you can do V and Nero getting pegged and aftercare please?? you’re writing is really good and I wanna thank you for the content you’re making! :D
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : V, Nero  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , toys, NSFW

##  **V**

It’s his idea yet you aren’t opposed. No, on the contrary. When he comes to you with such an earnest request, chin tilted ever so, green eyes smoldering, you can’t imagine a reality in which you would dismiss this opportunity.

Gathering supplies is the easy part because V does this on his own accord after you agree. He’s done his research and weighed his options.

“I assume you’ve never done this before, either,” he says as you inspect the strap. “If that’s the truth, then I am honored to have this dance. Shall we start slowly?”

You fumble through the motions. The harness is simple enough, but there are quite a few pieces to adjust for a proper fit. Perhaps you’re too vocal in your whining because V is smirking as he slides his fingers along the loops. He’s tugging the loose threading tighter around your hips, trailing over your legs with purposeful strokes. Electricity alights beneath the ghost of his touch, and you’re leaning into him while he drops open-mouthed kisses to your bare shoulder.

His hands are deft. You are his instrument.

Your lips collide. You’re humming into him, and as he leads you to the bed, you feel your heart hammer. Against the rhythmic percussion you can hear his pleasant sigh.

He lays his back against the sheets while you remain connected. Lips coasting, eyes closed, you miss when he reaches for the lubricant. The pop of the bottle is loud, however, and that you _don’t_ miss.

His eyes are fixed on you as he works the dildo in his hand until it glistens beneath the dim lights. Then down, down between his ass, dipping his wet fingers into his hole.

You cannot look away.

As you swallow your desire, aching in the heat of your lust, you realize he’s already stretched himself open. You start to ask, yet before you can, he’s grinning with a sword-sharp edge. It’s the twist of a blade you recognize - _knowing_ , always ahead of you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says as he wraps his long legs around your waist.

You take a moment to memorize the lines of his body, the intricacies of his bonded tattoos. The way his erection rests against his belly when he lifts his hips. The twist of his brows as you work yourself inside.

He guides you. He tells you when to slip in further, moans his appreciation when the painful stretch subsides, and as his full lips fall open around a pleasured cry, you seize control.

Your thrusts grow easier. He’s shuddering around you, reaching out to grasp your shoulders while you ride him in time with the symphony of his breathless gasps.

His fingers curl. Crescent moons like patterned scars dip into your skin. He’s baring his teeth and pulling you close, and those waves upon waves of ecstasy crash while he ravishes your neck with drunken affection.

He’s hissing quiet affirmation when you pick up speed. “There,” he’s telling you. “Right there. Don’t stop…”

“You sound so good,” you praise him through your panting. “Won’t you cum for me?”

Your hips snap and his voice grows louder. His grip on you tightens until you’re pressed chest-to-chest; until he’s whimpering in your ear. He trembles and you chuckle while you kiss honey-sweet affection to his temple.

“Cum,” you command.

His nails scrape welts into your back. He sinks his teeth into your arm. Oh, and how he plunges into sweet abyss with a strangled cry.

Beautiful. Always so beautiful.

And as you crawl atop him against the sweat-soaked sheets with quiet praise murmured against his cheek, you think you would like to do this again.

You somehow don’t quite think he would be opposed.

##  **Nero**

Nero doesn’t say no when you bring up the idea, but he doesn’t say _yes_ , either. What he says is, “I’ve never thought of that,” which is a neutral non-answer you’re willing to work with.

You ask him for permission to play with the thought. He grants it to you after rolling deliberation on the contingency that you work him up to pegging, as if it’s a sort of grand finale. Perhaps it will be, you think with a smile; a firework display in a cacophony of colorful explosions at the swell of his climax.

(You make yourself laugh.)

It happens over several weeks, and not every time you fall into bed - or the sofa, or the table, or the woods - with Nero. As you lose yourself in the taste of him, the touch of his arms around you, you find yourself forgetting to ask as simply as you forget to breathe beneath his kiss.

You request permission to explore him more often. Your fingers slide between his cheeks to tease his hole as he rests his forehead against your clavicle. His bliss is exhaled ardor.

Then it’s a plug a week later. Short, narrow, but curious in its ridges. It gauges him, slow and steady, and while he grits his teeth and groans against the pillows, you ask him how it feels. You ask him, “Do you like it, baby?”

His breath hitches. Your heart stutters.

You use the plug a handful of times more just to watch him writhe.

The day your harness arrives, you’re eager to try. He attempts to act casual but you can see the way he licks his teeth behind his lips. He’s intimidated. You remind him that you don’t have to do this but he’s not interested in being coddled.

“I want to.” He’s resolute despite the way his cheeks tinge pink, and perhaps he’s overdoing his courage when he wraps his hand around your toy to tug you close, but you giggle against his heated kiss and melt into his welcoming arms.

You slather thick lubricant against the silicone and suck a beautiful hickey into his neck. He’s groaning, hands running up and down your chest, and you can’t wait to get inside of him.

Fireworks. You’d thought of them prior, but now you’re sure. With his hands braced against the headboard, you fuck into his ass. His back is arched in a bow and god, his muscular thighs are quivering.

And he’s so, so noisy.

Every moan lights heat in your veins. In your belly. In your groin. You moan in tandem, hissing sweet nothings in his ear while he curls his toes and calls your name.

He’s standing on his knees. He’s braced his forearms on the wall. You’re holding a handful of his hips and he can’t stop the bubbled stream of husky cries spilling from his lips.

“Just like that,” you tell him as you slide your hand around his cock.

“Keep… talking,” he says on a whispered gasp, head dropping between his shoulders.

And you do. You keep talking. You tell him how good he is, how much you love him, how you’d do anything for him while you twist your hand around his heavy erection. You add the pressure you know he likes.

He cums with a violent thrash. The heels of his palms slam against the wall with a crack. He’s shouting, spilling spurts of white into your hand, onto the pillows, against the mattress while you ride him through his orgasm.

He descends from his high with a series of tremors. You guide him against you while he catches his breath. And as you stroke his hair and kiss his salt-stained skin, you tell him that you love him; you tell him that he’s perfect.

You fall asleep sealed in an embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't forget these two, right?
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Sparda Men: Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  Request for a reader(f! Or Nb!) patching up the sparda boys after they come home injured?
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil, Nero  
>  _Drabble_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , descriptions of wounds/blood, fluff

##  **Dante**

Although he regenerates skin cells, sinew, and bone on a molecular level that baffles you, when Dante saunters into the shop that day, you notice he has three long gashes like welted canyons serrated into the left side of his neck. The blood has coagulated, yet you see a rich shadow that taints the wound an unnatural purple.

When you ask, Dante waves you off with a sideways grin. Of course he does, you think. What were you expecting? Yet you catch the twist in his brows that expose the pain he’s masking, always blasé, and you refuse to let it slide even when he reminds you that _hey_ , “My body heals itself, remember?”

When he removes his sword and jacket, you pull him into orbit to examine the wound. You can see the river of surrounding veins are a series of swollen blues. His skin seems pallid, and against the smattering of freckled blood stains, beads of sweat gleam.

Your concern is met with another dismissive click of his tongue. “Looks like I’m gettin’ old. Body’s slower on the uptake.” He shrugs. “Give it some time and it’ll be fine.”

Frankly, you don’t care what he has to say. His jugular seems to pulsate with each heartbeat and even if he won’t tell you what happened, you’re still going to care for him; that’s your job, you say out loud. “So please sit down and let me do that?”

He doesn’t argue with you. His exhaustion is bruised beneath his eyes, so perhaps it’s a relief when he collapses on the couch. (He certainly seems to melt into the peeling leather.)

When you return, it’s with bandages and disinfectant, a clean cloth and a bowl of warm water; you place your items on the coffee table and sit at his left side while you survey the damage with clinical attention. “Seriously,” you say, wetting your cloth. “What did this to you?”

And Dante sighs through his nose as you gently dab his neck. “Hellhound.”

You pause, incredulous as you ask, “How?”

“Got me good,” he says with a derisive laugh. When you shoot him a warning glare, he raises his hands. “Look, I really don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.”

You return to your work, diligent despite the concern that wraps icy fingers around your throat. “Does it hurt?”

His lips mesh together, his eyes sliding toward you. You can see the gears in his head turning as he weighs his options: Honesty or a bold-faced bluff? “Mm, I’d say… not as much as you seem to think.”

It takes roughly ten minutes until you feel satisfied. Until you place your bloody basin and cotton swabs down and observe the way his skin has begun to knit itself back together. _Incredible_. Anyone else would need stitches.

You’re so focused, you don’t catch the gentle smile twisting at the ends of his lips.

“How’s it looking, doc?” he asks as you squeeze preventative antibiotic - just in case he’s _capable_ of getting an infection. “Will I live to see another day?”

You huff and cuff him gently on the arm as he snorts, but you find relief in his ability to jest through this. “Not if you keep giving me a hard time.”

He grins his mirth, yanking you into an unexpected embrace that steals the wind from your lungs. “Careful,” he says as you settle into his hold. “Who’ll patch me up if you try to kill me?”

You hum as if in thought. “You could always call your brother.”

This gets a laugh out of Dante. “Sure, so he can finish the job.”

“Finally,” you say with a chuckle.

“Finally,” he agrees.

And as you wrap your arms around him tighter, unbothered by the scent of his sweat and musk, you plant a feather kiss to his jaw. “Please be careful out there,” you tell him.

“So long as I have you,” he says as his lips brush against your crown, “I think I’ll be alright.”

##  **Vergil**

You don’t expect Vergil to burst into your home grasping the doorknob until his knuckles are white, his breathing ragged and teeth bared in agony. You startle and rise from your seat, at his side in a burst of horror. He’s bowed forward, hunched as he grapples for his torso, and you’re leading him inside with an arm around his waist.

Blood hammers through your ears. “What happened?” you ask, hurried, urging him to sit down.

“I miscalculated,” he grunts through his gritted jaw. “Arrived in a nest…” he swallows as you gingerly assist him into the recliner. “There were far too many.”

On his jacket you see blood staining the threading, yet when you reach for him, he jerks away. Your eyes flick up to meet his and within his guarded stare, you observe only the line of furrowed pain in that sea of otherwise unrelenting pride.

He says your name and you still your mind to listen. “Don’t trouble yourself. I only need time and I will heal.”

For a moment, you can’t help but endure the sting of rejection, yet you’re quick to recover; before anything else, he’s come here, to _you_ , where he knows he’s safe to rest.

He trusts you. There are no words to express how profoundly this strikes your heart. It fills you, spreading like sunshine across the chords of your ribs until you buzz with breathless joy.

“Can I at least get you something?” You’re standing in front of him and you want nothing more than to be helpful, to show him how much you care, and as he studies you through his intensity, you are able to watch him make his conclusion. It’s a click in his irises; a spark of electric _knowing_.

“Your company.”

Heat floods your cheeks and with a nod, you take a seat at his side. You attempt to smother your smile, focusing instead on the way Vergil steals a moment of reprieve to close his eyes. Your worry lessens - you’re certain that he will recover.

“Will you take me with you next time?” you ask, intentionally quiet when you reach for his hand.

(He does not withdraw.)

His eyes part, that pale gaze shifting to observe you, mild and curious. “I wouldn’t actively seek to put you in danger.” His brow quirks. “I can heal. You may not.”

And while you know this is true, you wish he wouldn’t continue to venture on his own. Can he not take Dante? Nero? If he’s concerned with leading you to harm, surely his family can handle it? Yet you know Vergil too well, and with that comes the knowledge that he would rather take care of his own business because he thinks it’s easier than delegating tasks, or attempting to control _two_ less malleable forces.

As your thumb strokes the back of his palm, you lean on your arm rest. “Can I make a request, then?” Although Vergil doesn’t answer, merely closing his eyes once more, you know that he’s listening. “Consider taking someone else with you? At least… _Sometimes_.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Would it ease your fears?”

Your heart thrums. “Yes.”

Exhaling through his nose, he turns to look at you, and for a moment, he says nothing. He’s roving his eyes across your expression as if to read you, to piece together a detail he perhaps has missed, then finally, straightening his shoulders, he turns his palm over to press into yours. Your fingers lace.

“Then I suppose… I’ll consider it in the future.”

##  **Nero**

“For the _last time_ , it’s not a big deal!” He tries to duck away but you’re persistent. “Ugh, quit it!”

“For heaven’s sake. Would you just stay still, Nero?”

You have your grip on his arm as you tug him toward you, but Nero has a stubborn heel in the carpet. His head is cast toward the wall but you can see him making a show of rolling his eyes regardless.

_At least he’s fallen silent._

In your own tenacity, you crowd into his space and slide your hold to his hand. You have to use force to get him to relent, yet when he does, it’s with a long-suffering sigh that has _you_ rolling _your_ eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m not a -” but he catches himself, flushing, giving you a cantankerous stare before he scoffs and turns away once more.

Such a baby, you repeat to yourself.

There are a series of nicks in his knuckles from a particularly heavy-handed punch. His index finger is split open, a wound that spans across the entirety, and as you inspect it through the oozing blood, he huffs. “C’mon, seriously?”

“We need to wash it off,” you say with a sense of finality. “Come.”

And for all of his complaining, arguing, and - no matter what he says - _whining_ , he follows you into your small bathroom where you twist the sink on. The water takes a moment to heat but when it does, you hold out your hand for his. He hesitates, lips flattened together, then wordlessly complies.

He stares at the flowing water rather than you, and in his expression, you can read the simmering shyness that he’s attempting to suppress behind a hardened glare.

“You shouldn’t fight me,” you tell him, patient despite the way he jerks in your hold as if burned. The water coasts along his knuckles, staining the sink a diluted crimson while you ghost the pads of your fingertips over the broken flesh. “I’m just trying to help.”

“But I’ll be fine,” he says, quiet against the rushing water. “I’ve been through way worse than this.”

“I know,” and you do. You’re peeking at him, smiling a touch while his muscles visibly ease. “But I’m here for you now and I hate seeing you hurt, so let me make it a big deal. Just a little bit. Please?”

A light brush of pink tints his face while he takes a sharp inhale, as if he’s irritated by the thought. You both know better. His eyes are giving him away and oh, they always do. There’s a glimmer of elation drawn there, the upturn of his brows belying the sweet spark of affection he feels.

You feel it, too.

“Here,” you say. “Keep your hand under the tap. I’m gonna grab some stuff to wrap your finger, okay?”

You slide past him, maneuvering through the tight space and tiled white walls to head toward your cabinet. Yet you get so far as the toilet before Nero’s snatching your wrist with his free hand, and when your gazes meet, his eyes dim with an outpouring of ardor that heats your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he says, and you tip your head with a demure smile. He gives you a sideways smile in return.

“You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really proud of how this one turned out!
> 
> It would mean a lot to me if you could leave kudos and/or drop a comment if you've enjoyed. ✌️😎
> 
> If you'd like to see more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there. Additional headcanons and analyses are there, as well.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. The Holidays with the Sparda Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  What would it be like spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with the Sparda men?
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil, Nero  
>  _Drabble_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , fluff

##  **Dante**

At first you believe that holidays aren’t exactly his “thing.” That it’s painted by a religion that isn’t his, and it’s too bathed in traditionalism where Dante is anything but, between his attitude, his appearance, and his lifestyle. You think this, yet as the holidays grow closer, you notice that his mood seems to weaken and crumble. He isn’t irritable or sour. No, that isn’t it at all. You _know_ Dante and his facades; this you recognize as depression.

You live within your perplexity only for a short time before you decide to ask. Side by side on the worn leather couch, your knee pressed against his as he reclines in a languid arch, you pose your observation with as much tact as you can muster. “You seem down.”

Without turning his head, his eyes slide toward you. He sweeps over your expression and you can feel the way he’s analyzing – likely approximating what you’ve gleaned. With quiet huff though his nose, he closes his eyes and leans his head back. “Well, damn. And here I thought I was the embodiment of ole Saint Nick.”

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

The silence that stretches is full of rumination. Dante is weighing his options, isn’t he? Considering if it’s worth telling you the truth. Your heart hammers in your chest as he measures you, weighs you, and finds you…

“I always feel kinda _eh_ around the holidays.”

… _worthy_.

You wait with hopeful patience, quelling your thoughts and over-eager questions because there’s a physical shift, one there beneath the immediate surface, that tells you he has more to say. You rest your hand on his thigh and tip forward, attempting to remain a source of comfort.

He cracks one eye open to peek at you. The look you offer makes him sigh, sit up, and shake his head on a roll of his shoulders. “I guess it reminds me of my family. You know, sad little boy stuff.”

 _Oh_.

What had the holidays been like before tragedy? And what had they been like prior to your arrival? You simmer on this for perhaps too long because Dante is visibly retreating into himself with that sideways, self-deprecating smile that warns you precisely _where_ he’s about to bury his emotions. You rise to your feet. “Your family!”

He tips his head, lips flattening into pulled confusion-mirth-weariness that makes you switch your hips on a sheepish laugh.

“Yeah,” you continue. “What about your family?” The light has yet to click on. You continue with swelling emotion. “Vergil and Nero? And Lady, and Trish…” You bounce on the balls of your feet. “We could invite them over and do something fun. Like… Like a party.”

There’s slow realization dawning like the sunrise across Dante’s face and it’s equal in beauty. The sparkle in his eyes; the smile curling at his lips as he drops his forearms into his lap and leans forward until he’s grinning with silent, crinkled laughter. “A party, huh?”

“A holiday office party,” you say with an eager nod.

This _does_ make him laugh. “You might just be onto something.”

“So, what do you think?” You watch as he rises to stand in front of you, his hand combing through his hair. “I think we could pull it off together. It could be a lot of fun.”

“Alright,” he says with an exaggerated shrug. “What the hell?” As lackadaisical of a response it is, you can see his happiness. “You wanna decorate? I’ll send out the invitations.”

You agree with a grin, tipping forward to kiss his scruffy cheek, and as you saunter off toward the desk to gather a piece of scrap paper and a pen to start your planning, you feel much lighter than you had before.

“Hey,” he says and you spin to look. “Think we could get Morrison to dress as Santa?”

You laugh.

##  **Vergil**

Vergil doesn’t seem to care that the holidays are around the corner, nor does he indicate any desire to celebrate. You’ve been mulling over how to breach the subject, not from fear but rather uncertain of what judgement he may pass. Surely, if you find any importance in the season, Vergil will indulge you to the best of his ability; you know this and yet you find yourself wondering if he’s fully against them in their entirety. He’s shown open disinterest in religion – Fortuna, you deduce, left a bad taste – but you think, perhaps, he might be open to a bit of spirit. At the very least, you’d love the excuse to have him spend time with the rest of his family.

Your answer comes in the form of a red wax-sealed envelope delivered to your home. Perplexed, you study the writing on the worn paper and see there is no return address listed. Curiosity guides your hands to the seal yet you stop yourself, deciding to share this moment with Vergil.

You find him in the study with several opened books across his desk, exactly as he had left them the night before. The door is open yet you knock to announce your presence. He doesn’t look up as he waves you in.

“I’ve yet to decipher these texts,” he says as you plop into the armchair across from where he stands. “I’m afraid the language may be too far removed from more recent demon tongue.”

“It’s fascinating how even demon language evolves.” He raises his gaze and you smile, lifting the envelope for him to see. “By the way, this came in the mail today. It’s got a wax seal. Think it might be important?”

Vergil’s attention flits to the envelope, then back to you. “Ominous.”

“Mm,” you agree. “Could be some wild invitation to battle to the death. Shall I open it?”

He nods, gesturing with a hand to carry on. You find anticipation builds as you peel back the seal and remove the folded letter within. The handwriting is scrawled, the penmanship overly decorated, but the words are thick, black and bold, as if written with an inkwell.

“Might need some more books to decipher this text, too,” you say with a snort, flashing the paper at Vergil who rolls his eyes in amusement. “Well, let’s see if I can read it.” You clear your throat with theatrics and shake the letter out, settling into your chair. “ _Dearest brother,_ ” you start before you laugh. “Oh, spoiler alert.”

Vergil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dante…”

“Ever the showman,” you answer. “Okay, here we go.”

_Dearest brother,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health and with haste, as time is not on our side._

_With the change of the season, I find myself longing to indulge in what has been described to me only as “holiday spirit.” It is for this reason that I cordially invite you and your love to my humble home for drink, company, and merriment._

_Sincerely,_

_**Dante** _

There’s a silence that follows during which Vergil rises to his full height. He closes his eyes while he folds his arms across his chest. You’re biting back your delight. “He sure knows how to make an entrance,” you say.

Vergil shakes his head before he holds out his hand, and without hesitation, you give him the letter. He scans the paper with pursed lips and brows drawn, then exhales a long-suffering sigh. “My brother has a propensity for theatrics.”

“And you don’t?”

He turns to you and for a moment, he seems scandalized. He flattens his expression. “It seems as though you already have an opinion.”

“The _correct_ opinion.” There’s a playful thread between your banter and you can’t help but smile. “But so…” You tip your head and pull an accent that isn’t yours, “What say you?”

Vergil stares. For a moment, you think he’s going to admonish you, and yet his smile simmers with a telltale gleam. Your heart soars.

“Shall we respond in kind?”

##  **Nero**

You’ve decorated your shared space with lights and a tree, filled the living room with cheerful music, and hung stockings above the heater where you’ve joked that it’s the closest to a fireplace you have. You do this, and never once has Nero complained. He’s even assisted with stringing the lights around the top of the wall, further than you can stretch. Despite not being quite as enthusiastic about the holiday, you appreciate his acceptance of yours.

Beneath the glow of the flickering multi-colored lights, you’re placing a new ornament on the tree when Nero enters the front door. Clutched in his hand is an open envelope, familiar prickled irritation in the line of his shoulders.

“Welcome back.” Your brows knot in surprise. “What’s that?”

“Something stupid,” Nero answers. “It’s from Dante.”

You grin as you rise to your feet, clamoring over to the entrance while he’s distracted with shutting the door. He gets out a quick, “ _Hey!_ ” before you snatch the envelope from his grip, spinning out of immediate reach.

“Oh, a seal? Fancy,” you’re saying as you slide the letter from its confines. Nero is following behind you, but each half-hearted swipe has you dodging. It’s a joyous dance that makes you giggle and you know that Nero isn’t truly angry; it’s for show when he throws his hands up and lets out a long groan, collapsing in a chair in front of the television like a cut marionette. “Did you read it yet?”

He sighs, jiggling his knee. “Got as far as the first line.”

You grin. “Then let’s read it together, hm?” Moving to stand behind him, you drape your arms around his shoulders and orient the letter in front of you both, resting your chin on the top of his head. “Oh, his handwriting is…”

“Fucking awful?” Nero supplies.

“Ornate,” you agree with a laugh. “Well, let’s see if I can read it.”

_Dearest nephew,_

_I bid you and yours good tidings!_

_I am writing to cordially invite you and your loved one to join me at my abode for a holiday celebration this solstice. Fret not, for I will provide accommodations during your stay in the city of Red Grave._

_Sincerely,_

_**Dante** _

“What –”

“A party!” You unravel yourself from Nero’s warmth to sidle around him, beaming. “We’re definitely going.”

Nero stares at you and you stare back. There’s silence while his expression works into exhaustion. Nero breaks it with a click of his tongue. “Why’d he have to invite us to a party like an old vampire?”

“Why not?”

He snorts. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Just never would’a taken Dante for a family holiday kinda guy.”

You tilt your head with a patient stare, considering. “Well, Dante hasn’t really had a family until recently.” Nero quirks a brow. “I mean, you only got real confirmation a few months ago and Vergil –”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, waving his hand. _Right_ , you think. Still a sore spot. “So you think Dante’ll invite him?”

You nod your understanding, slow and careful. “I think that’s likely.”

Nero’s lips mesh together as he nods, eyes falling to the floor, faraway in thought.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you say.

It takes Nero a moment to regain focus, but when he does, he’s looking at you with heavy deliberation. He’s reaching for your hands, drawing you into orbit until you’re standing between his knees. His thumbs rub small circles into your skin and you bask in his warmth. “You wanna go, right?”

“Could be fun,” you answer.

His chest fills on a deep inhale before he’s accepting his fate with surprising ease. “Okay, then can ya do me a favor and grab me the phone? I’ll let ‘im know.”

You grin. “You got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This request got away from me and grew pretty long, but I hope it's fun regardless.
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Sparda Men: Proposing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  Hcs about how the boys would propose to you? 🥺🤲
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil, Nero  
>  _Headcanon_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , fluff

##  **Dante**

The man, the myth, the legend never would have imagined himself in a committed relationship with _anyone_ , and to have that someone be as magnificent – as perfect, as fun, as troublesome and anchored as you? He considers himself lucky in a way he doesn’t believe that he deserves.

For this reason, it takes him a long while to reconcile with what he wants; what he truly, _irrevocably_ desires.

 _ **You**_. Forever.

He’s never believed in marriage. Never saw the point when it’s only another contract, no different than the ones he has his clients sign before he hoists his blade over his shoulder and enters the chaos with a sideways smile. A formal business agreement to show your loyalty?

 ~~Seems sus~~.

Yet the more time passes with you, the more he begins to see the appeal of taking your hand before the eyes of… _whatever it is_. ~~The government~~. 

It’s on a whim. (It’s _always_ on a whim.) He’s weighed his options prior but the act? After spending the morning in your company, wrapped up in your languid love, he makes a snap decision.

It isn’t a special day until he makes it one when he blocks the television with his body and laughs when you complain that he’s a better door than a window.

“Hold on, hold on,” he says as he reaches for the remote to mute your show as you shout a quick “hey!” yet he swings around to face you, throws a wink, and slides down on one knee.

He doesn’t present anything. There isn’t jewelry or roses, no box of chocolates or bottle of champagne, only Dante with his thousand watt grin and his hand on yours. But Dante is a magnetic man with honey-sweet prose and your breath catches all the same. You need nothing else.

With your name on his tongue, he recites his love for you on center stage and though the whimsy makes you smother a laugh behind your hand, there’s no question of his sincerity.

“Love of my life, dearest of all, my heart beats only for you. Have you any idea the power you hold over me?”

And as his theatrics fade, he peels back the scars and wounds and opens his uninhibited heart for you. He tells you how much you’ve improved his life. How happy you make him.

“Waking up next to you every morning? _Heh_. I feel like I might just believe in angels, after all.”

His smile is syrup and sugar when you agree to marry him, and as he draws you into his orbit with a long kiss, you know you were made for this moment.

He jokes later that you should get matching tattoos on your ring fingers. His would say “for” and yours would say “ever.” You swing back that it should say “best buds.” He laughs and reels you into a hug.

He buys you an antique band, instead.

##  **Vergil**

Much like his brother, Vergil has never seen the point to marriage. To have to prove your loyalty? Should that not be simply understood through the relationship? What is there to further prove? More importantly, to whom do you owe explanation? Your relationship is sound.

He loves you. Is that not enough?

Humanity and their ridiculous traditions have no business being in his.

If it’s marriage you want, however, you will have to express this. Whether it’s because you believe in the practice – religiously, romantically, or a hybrid of both – or because of the tax benefits, he’ll need to hear it from you.

His answer isn’t immediate. He needs time to reconsider his own stubborn understanding.

You, however, come first. You always come first. Even when he doesn’t express it, he pays careful attention to what makes you feel safe and secure. If a marriage license is what it takes, then perhaps he can release his ironclad grip and compromise. It isn’t as though he hasn’t already planned to keep you near until, perhaps, you tire of him.

He supposes ultimately, there’s no harm.

When he comes back to you with his decision, there’s no fanfare. He doesn’t make a spectacle. He doesn’t offer anything beyond his company.

His approach is calm and formal, although you doubt he means for it to be. No, you’ve grown accustomed to Vergil’s peculiarities and your eyes aren’t deceiving you. There’s anxiety knotted between his brows and in the way his eyes seem unable to focus on you. Funny, considering how confident he’d seemed upon entry.

He says your name and stands across from you, hands folded neatly in front of himself. (Reserved, closed off, and you find yourself wondering what he’s up to.)

“I’ve considered your request,” he says, “for marriage.”

You nearly laugh, but you won’t damage his pride. You know how hard this is for him to reconcile, even as he steels his expression with practiced stone-perfection.

You prompt him with an inquiry and smile, patient and curious to hear his conclusion.

“If it’s what you want and you find me worthy, then I would be honored to have your hand.”

You throw yourself at him and reassure him that he doesn’t have to marry you, not if he truly doesn’t want to go that route. That you’d be happy simply knowing he’s yours, but he’s steadfast as he slides his arms around your waist.

“My heart belongs to you,” he says. “And I will _gladly_ give it to you.”

##  **Nero**

He hates to acknowledge how much of a romantic he is at heart but he’s told you, in a moment of feathered vulnerability in the lull of conversation, how he’s always kinda-sorta dreamt of marriage. Nothing big, he amends. Only the most important people would be there, but he _has_ envisioned it in a cathedral dressed in white.

“I know it’s lame,” he says. “And pretty fuckin’ stupid at this point. It’s not like anyone even follows the Order anymore. Who needs a cathedral?”

But you don’t think it’s lame or stupid, and you tell him that you’ve dreamt of marriage, too. You’ve always wished for some fashion of a family with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence, even though that isn’t your life and likely will never be. It’s alright to dream.

Nero falls silent. He doesn’t bring it up again, not for quite sometime. Time passes enough that you forget the conversation.

You never see it coming.

It’s your birthday and you’re finished celebrating with your friends. You get home, just the two of you, high from excitement of the day. And Nero says, “Wait-wait-wait. I’ve got another present for you. Hold on a sec, okay?” Then vanishes into the bedroom as you peel your shoes off.

When he meets you in the living room, his hand is behind his back. He’s shifty, bouncing from foot to foot, but he tells you to close your eyes with a wolfish grin. So you do. You cover your eyes with your hands and laugh as he shuffles around. You listen as hard but you only hear a click you don’t recognize.

“Okay, open ‘em.”

And he’s on one knee, a black box in his hand with a ring cushioned neatly at the heart. Your chest seizes. You think you might cry. ~~Perhaps you already are~~.

“I know I can’t give you the life you want,” he’s saying, soft yet impassioned, watching you with rapt attention. “But I love you more than anything and I can’t imagine life without you. I… want to spend forever with you. So, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

You say _yes_. _Of course_ you say yes. You laugh through your mounting joy as he slides the band over your finger, reverent and fighting back his own emotion glimmering in his eyes.

He may not be able to give you “the life you want” from the dreams you had as a child, but you have no doubt that _this_ is the life you want.

With him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a sweet request, tbh. I really wanted to give a lighthearted and fun response, with as much cheese as possible, so I hope you all like this.
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Dante: First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  Hey Leon I hope you are doing alright❤. I admire your work so much and Everytime I get a notification you posted something I get so hyped. Thank you for sharing your amazing work with us🤩. I was wondering what you think Dante would do for a first date and how eventual dates would look like when he is already dating someone for a while. No pressure to answer. If you don't want to thats fine ❤❤❤
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante  
>  _Headcanon_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , fluff, alcohol use

The first date is your idea. You ask if he wants to grab a drink with you, going for an air of what you hope is casual-cool-calm and not the anxiety that teeters on a windswept tightrope deep in the pit of your stomach.

Dante’s expression twists with curiosity as he hops to his feet, smirking through that lackadaisical charm. “Alright,” he’s saying as he closes the distance between you, a gust in his cadence like practiced nonchalance. “Sounds like fun. I’m in.”

The bar is only a block away. You walk in tandem, idle chatter filling the space with easy camaraderie, and he laughs wholly when you tell him you’ll get the door. “Well, well. Who knew you were so polite?” He claps his hand on your shoulder as he passes.

You swallow the scent of smoke and aged wood in that beloved hole-in-the-wall, comfort curled deep in your bones.

You’re trailing behind him as he swings into a stool at the counter with a hearty spin that makes you snort. You collapse beside him, and it’s just as simple when your knees brush. There’s no acknowledgement, and when the bartender sidles up to collect your orders, you toss a sideways smile that Dante returns.

Glasses chiming in gentle toast, you spend two hours side by side until you’re both laughing at nothing. Until the familiarity tastes like whiskey on the rocks and Dante’s cheap cologne.

With the encouragement of the cotton-lined alcohol beneath your skin, you admit that you’d intended for this to be a date.

“Oh yeah?” he says, and he’s tapping the tip of your nose with his finger. Tap. Tap. _Tap_. “Then the night’s still young! How ‘bout we go somewhere else and really heat this date up.”

You’re blushing. Your mind is racing. Anticipation rattles and you wonder if you’re ready for that. Are you ready? Wait, did _he_ ask if you’re ready? You’re giggling when he leads you out of the bar.

“Let’s paint the town!”

A half an hour later and you’re in red and blue bowling shoes. 

Tactile Dante decides to get your whole body involved in this date. He’s grinning as he holds up a red bowling ball and tests the weight with a roll of his wrist. He nods his approval and gives it a watermelon- _slap_.

“Don’t pick anything too light,” he’s instructing when you slide your hands over all of the different colors, mesmorized for perhaps a moment too long. “One good throw and you’ll knock out the poor guy in Lane 3.”

The poor guy in Lane 3 rolls another gutter ball. You laugh and admit with your lack of coordination tonight, that might be you later.

“Have a little faith and show me your moves.”

The best of the 90′s is pumping over the speakers and there are spotlights shaped like bowling pins cartwheeling around the walls, and after the third toss straight into the gutter, you throw your hands up.

He stands behind you and takes your arm. He lines your aim beneath the backlights and neon while Britney Spears sings _Lucky_ in time with the percussion of your heartbeat.

It’s midnight when he walks you home, back in tandem, side by side. You’re recounting his perfect score with gusto while he nods along, eyes focused wholly on you, and when you make it to your doorstep, he waits while you search your pockets for your keys.

You ask him if he’ll be okay getting home and his lips pull with saccharine humor you can’t understand.

“Thanks for the date night,” he’s saying while you smother a grin. “Had a blast.”

“Can we do this again?” you ask before he can leave. “Would that be okay?”

He scratches his chin with an exaggerated hum, and as you roll onto the balls of your feet, his eyes follow you and there’s a sense of knowing; of being picked apart and slotted back together again until you’re rebuilt with your heart displayed behind a sheet of glass. You mesh your lips together and step onto his scale.

His answer comes in a lazy shrug. “Yeah, I think that can be arranged.”

And as he considers taking his leave, one foot on the sidewalk, the other on the stair, he makes another decision:

He kisses your cheek.

Chaste, the brush of his scruff tickles your skin. A laugh bubbles out of you and you’re covering your cheek with the pads of your fingers while he slips you his Casanova grin.

You stand behind your door for a few extra minutes after he leaves with your palm over your heart. Electricity pops along the phantom kiss and you think, yeah. _Yeah_ , you want to do this again.

Maybe this time, you are that lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for hanging out here with me, and this anon for the nice request. I enjoyed writing this out! I also decided to focus on the first date of many more just to really flesh this thought out.
> 
> As always, if you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Vergil: S/O Seriously Injured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  i am sending this to you before i forget, but may i so humbly request that you write what you think would happen if vergil were to see his s/o get seriously injured? 😔 (it’s the angst for me)
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Vergil  
>  _Drabble_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , angst

“You never trust me,” you say over the barrel of your smoking gun.

A demon drops to the dirt at your feet with a hollow point burrowed between its eyes.

“It isn’t _you_ I don’t trust,” Vergil replies. And it’s that simple, isn’t it?

Yamato sings above the chorus of growls and snarls and filth and rot, ringing louder, sharper than the snap of feral jaws.

There are three demons left in front of you. Fodder, you think. You raise your gun – you’ll only need three bullets. “Still,” you’re saying while you steady your aim to trace the path of the lumbering beasts. Closer. _Closer_. “You shouldn’t waste your energy worrying about me.”

Vergil doesn’t respond.

You pull the trigger.

The symphony of death is the blast of your pistol. A well placed shot and a body falls in rhythm. You exhale against the recoil, drop your shoulders and _feel_ the seconds align.

The empty husks turn to silken slime and ichor, and you revel in your victory with a pompous huff. “Too easy.”

A shadow shrouds your sight. You have only enough spared seconds to see a fourth demon take a swing, its razor claws a gleam beneath the halogen streetlamp. _No_. There’s no time to scream. There’s no time to react. You fire a useless shot into the air while it slides it claws into the meat of your soft belly.

Your lips soundlessly fall open. Your gun falls in metal echo.

Your ears are ringing but you think you hear your name over your fluttering pulse. Over the taste of metal. Over the heat pouring past your fingertips to dye the earth. You stare into the eyes of the beast as your vision swims and you think, although it cannot smile, it seems to all the same.

“No...” you wheeze through the blood that drips down your chin.

This can’t be how it ends.

A streak of azure paints your darkening vision in blurred neon. It’s Vergil. It has to be. Oh, but the world is spinning and you’re freezing. It’s so cold.

When did you face the sky? You exhale.

Your fingertips graze the dirt where flowers may one day bloom to fill the spaces of your tragedy.

This must be death.

Through the haze you see the demon risen high, higher still, slumped forward and limp at the end of cold steel. The blade bursts through its back in a halo of crimson.

“As the last of your life slips away, you will suffer for your mistakes.”

Vergil lowers the demon until its feet touch the dirt. He braces his boot against its talons and stares, pensive, cold, into the those same fiery eyes.

And he pulls Yamato in an arc.

The severed body of the demon collapses. One piece, then the other. A final drumbeat.

Your swimming vision freckles with black and you are fading. You blink and Vergil is beside you. You blink and he’s peeling your shirt open.

His hands are covered in blood.

“Stay awake,” he’s telling you yet his voice is garbled beneath water. You’re sinking. “Stay awake. I’ll get you to safety.”

“Do you...” your voice is a whisper as he lifts you, “still trust me?”

And as you close your eyes, you hear his answer in the hollow point ricochet of blackened silence.

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought there were a couple of choice lines in here lmao
> 
> As always, if you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Nero: Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  **DIRTY TALK:** HOW filthy will they go? during sex or mid-battle or whispered nasties while stuck in the van w the whole crew. you can include all the boys if you want in HC format, but im mostly curious abt Nero if you would prefer to just do one imagine!! that boy has a mouth on him and i kinda live for it. lots of love and as always a big thank u for sharing your gift with us Leon; i said it before in an anon back on the old blog but yeah, rly hit the 🔫 jackpot 🔫 finding you ! <3
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Nero  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , NSFW

You should have expected this.

The first time it happens, which is not your _first time_ together, those filthy words spill out of Nero’s lips faster than he can catch them. He’s in a daze with your mouth wrapped around his dick. His teeth are bared, his eyes hooded and heavy as he slides a hand through your hair with affectionate aggression like a pretty little _threat_.

“Fuck, you look sogood with my dick in your mouth.”

It’s as if the dam cracks and through it spills sultry filth that sends white-hot circuit heat through your veins. And when it affects you so visibly, with your eyes closed and shiver in your skin, he decides to test his limits.

You’re in his van with Nico at the helm. He’s watching you with idle interest and you smile when you catch his gaze. His lips curl into that troublesome crooked grin. You brace yourself, yet you don’t expect him to cover the distance and collapse into the bench beside you, all heavy limbs and bravado.

His gaze flicks to Nico then back to you as he cups your cheek. He’s leaning in toward your ear. _Close_. Pressed against the shell, the heat of his breath makes your stomach flutter and cheeks warm with cotton.

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” he’s purring, lips brushing your skin. He nuzzles his nose in a soft swipe against your hairline. You can only bite your lip. “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes drag to the back of Nico’s head to check, yet he’s leading your face back toward his with a touch to your chin. “Just wait until I get you alone.”

He’s more brazen as time progresses. You’re in the shop. Dante is talking to the group and you’re listening, you _are_ , but Nero has his arms around you and your back is to his chest. He’s swaying in minor shifts to an unheard beat and no one cares that you’re close, that he’s holding you, and no one hears him when he steals a quick kiss to your cheek and murmurs, “I want you.”

He doesn’t seem to mind when you unravel his hold and send him a smirk that rivals his own despite his family now glancing in your direction. He doesn’t seem to mind when you make up an excuse to leave and feign apology with a sad little frown, regardless of the way it may look.

He _doesn’t_ mind. He doesn’t mind at all because he gets you pushed into the bricks in the alleyway just around the corner to nip at your neck.

You both giggle like teenagers.

“Alright, that was sexy.” He hums against you. “How did I get so lucky, anyway? You’re perfect.”

His fingers are curled into the flesh around your waist and you are his desire painted in kissed promise. With your arms around his shoulders, eyes closed as he showers you in the attention crave, you wonder the very same.

“I think we should get outta here fast,” he’s saying and you peek. His knife-tip smile punctuates his salacious wink. “Because I can’t _wait_ to hear you scream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	14. V: Trying His Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  hello!! thank you for opening requests! i love ur writing! :) i wanted to request the spardas+v (if thats too many just v is ok!!) unexpectedly walking in on the reader trying their jackets on? it could also be nsfw-ish!! thank you very much! i hope you have a good day
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : V  
>  _Headcanon Post_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , fluff

You’re standing in the bathroom when you slip into V’s sleeveless trench to drown in the familiar scent of worn leather. The jacket is softer than you imagined it to be between your index finger and your thumb, and the rich black dye shines beneath the incandescent lights. 

You check out how you look in the mirror with a smile on your face.

At 6′5″, the hem of V’s jacket reaches his knees. You are _~~likely~~_ shorter than he is and its length engulfs you.

The chords that thread through the front remain open, loose against your shirt, and as you begin to reach for them to tighten the bodice the way that your boyfriend does, you catch movement in the reflection in front of you. You raise your head.

V stands against the doorframe, eyebrows raised and lips pulled to one side in simmering mirth.

Oh, you can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you stand frozen and mortified.  
_Deer. Headlights._

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks.

“I –”

Yet V is shaking his head with his hand raised, poised to halt any apologies.

“It looks,” he starts as he straightens and takes a step forward, “like it suits you quite well.”

You turn to face him as he ghosts a finger along the length of your arm and caught in his stare, you raise your shoulders with rehearsed diffidence. “Will you show me how to lace it?”

“Ah, it would be my pleasure.” His deft fingers work along the chords, weaving through the eyelets as his knuckles brush your stomach in painter strokes. You bite your bottom lip while you glance at his expression.

Your eyes meet. Your breath catches.

The way he makes your heart stutter staccato percussion in the hollow of your chest; the way his touch electrifies your skin and trails hot circuitry through your spine; the way you lose yourself in his perfect artistry–

Is it really a wonder why you fell for him?

_No_ , you think as your warm lips brush.

His hands leave the threading, moving up, up to cup your cheeks as he draws closer. You hum against him.

Crowded against the tiled walls, you wind your hold around his waist.

“V,” you murmur. “You don’t mind this, then?”

He huffs a laugh. “ _He who kisses the joy as it flies, lives in eternity’s sunrise._ ” His palms rest on your hips as he steals another fleeting kiss that buries deep in your heart. “It would be remiss of me to take issue with your exploration.” His thumb sweeps along your cheek. “I want to live in your spontaneity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously went with V only here and I had a lot of fun with it! One of my first full dives into V.
> 
> If you've enjoyed, don't forget to leave kudos/comment, and if you're interested in seeing more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Nero: Soft Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  Your writing is always so wonderful! Im patiently awaiting the next chapter of Nothing's Gonna Hurt You, Baby! In the meantime, if you have the time, could you write a prompt of Reader x Nero enjoying some lazy morning sex before he heads out to work?
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Nero  
>  _Drabble_  
>  **No reader pronouns used** , fluff, smut but not explicit

You’ve grasped Nero's wrist, drawn him near, and murmured “ _not yet_ ” into his ear. A shadow in the backdrop of the early morning rays filtering between the curtains, you can’t see his expression, but you hear the amusement in a gust of air and imagine the crooked, daredevil smirk that makes your heart race.

He doesn’t hesitate. The mattress dips beneath the pressure of his knee, sinking with his weight when he slides himself over you. The light catches his snowy hair and gleams sun-kissed mischief in his eyes. His hum is a quiet purr that has you licking your lips as you stretch out beneath him, a smile of your own across your mouth.

“You gonna make me late again?” he asks. His voice is smoky with need, and oh, how the sound intoxicates you. 

“No one will mind,” you answer.

He smirks and dips down to kiss beside the crease of your lips. “Mmh,” he drops lower, mouthing at your jaw, dipping down, down until his chest is pressed against yours. “Guess you’re right.”

You touch him like a musician whose fingers coast along the familiar chords of flexing muscles and play the keys of silken sighs. With each pull, each stroke, you unravel his focus until all that he can do is sing a helpless, beautiful melody.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against your skin. He draws his hazy, lust-darkened eyes to yours and slides his hands beneath your shirt. Blunt nails caress a languid line along your sternum. “The things you do to me…”

Carbonated desire pops and fizzes through the cotton in your veins and as you curl your hands into his hair, you open wide and let him take you the way that he wants. The way that you want. Without urgency, you steal each minute from the clock and fill it with song.

Nero's glow is ethereal when the swell of your voices reach a crescendo, and loosened, giggling your pleasure when he takes your swollen lips in another candlelit kiss, you melt into him wholly. You drown beneath his love.

“How’m I supposed to go now?” he whispers against your cheek.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him into the sheets, and pressed into a limbless line, you bury your nose in his throat.

You borrow a few more minutes.

He saves those just for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really enjoyed this one, even though it's short.
> 
> Also, it would mean a lot to me if you could leave kudos and/or drop a comment if you've enjoyed!
> 
> If you'd like to see more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there. Additional headcanons and analyses are there, as well.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	16. Monopoly Night! ft. Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Request:_**  
>  May I ask for some headcanons about Monopoly night for the DMC crew (or just some of them, whatever you feel most comfortable with!)?
> 
> ###  **Chapter Warning**
> 
> **Character(s)** : Dante, Vergil, Nero, Lady  
>  _Headcanons_  
>  **No reader** , family bonding/shenanigans, attempt at humor

As with most things involving the Sparda family, they enter this situation in haphazard flourish.

It’s an hour into lazing around the adjacent sofas and chairs at _Devil May Cry_ when Dante announces his boredom. There are no theatrics in his delivery, only the gruff exhale of a man who needs a stiff drink.

He’s tired of watching Vergil and Nero read in the hollow silence of resounding discomfort. The palpable tension and pointed aversion is stifling despite the gentle breeze through the open window.  
_~~Ugh~~_.

Vergil exhales a long-suffering sigh. “Entertain _yourself_.”

The tin static of the music blaring from Nero’s headphones punctuates the itch Dante has to **disturb**.

Nero’s foot bounces in idle while he turns the page. He doesn’t look up, as if he’s purposely refusing to acknowledge the room. _He is._

Dante is forced to reconcile with the uncomfortable tension and his own exasperation as he kicks his boots up on his desk with a heavy thud, leaning back into his chair to close his eyes. All these years of longing for a family, of homesickness for a reality that isn’t his own, and _this_ is what he’s given? He isn’t actually mad, of course.

He’s saved when Lady pushes open the doors, surveys the room and says, “Wow. Who died?”

An hour and a frustrating amount of digging later, Dante and Lady uncover an unopened box of Monopoly from the depths of one of Dante’s closets. As if it’s Jumanji, they handle it with care.

…until Dante _slams_ it on the coffee table between Vergil and Nero.

Nero jolts, on his feet with his headphones off in seconds. His alarm melts into simmering anger. “C’mon! What the fu –”

While Vergil closes his book with a shadowed scowl. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lady circles the living room. She’s watching them. Dante catches the mischief gleaming in her eyes and reciprocates with a grin of his own, and as he folds his arms over his chest, Lady drops her heel against the table. Jarring and _definitive_. “It’s Monopoly, boys. Loser buys dinner for everyone.”

Nero caves without a fight, which Dante is both surprised by and, honestly, perhaps not at all surprised by when Nero starts to unbox the game. It’s Vergil who Dante (rightfully) assumes will decline.

“I’d prefer to finish my book. I have no inclination to play your childish games.”

What he doesn’t expect is for Nero to be the one to engage.

“Childish? _Why_? Because you’re so fucking superior reading books in _Latin_?” Nero slams his palm on the coffee table, rattling the metal character pieces. “Would you just pick the damn top hat?”

There’s a long pause in which Nero and Vergil stare each other down. Lady looks between them, lips pursed, while Dante merely rolls his eyes.

Vergil folds first. With a derisive huff through his nose, he places his elbows on his knees and leans forward to retrieve the top hat.

Nero only squints as if to say, “That’s what I fucking thought you said.”

Everyone takes a seat and collects their pieces. Lady takes the boat, Dante claims the boot, Nero has the dog, and Vergil is already tapping his top hat on the table.

Lady dubs herself Queen and lays out the rules. She also acts as a referee, although she often instigates internal bickering in an effort to sabotage. Dante starts to call her out on this when she pits Nero on him – “You’re gonna let Dante buy your space?” – but Lady only smiles and winks. (“No one will ever believe you.”)

Vergil plays with strategy. He’s read the board and determined where he would like to build, although he doesn’t share and takes them by surprise when he chooses what seem to be lesser options. He’s the best equipped for victory with his methodical approach, but his money handling skills leave a lot to be desired. He overspends too quickly.

Nero plays on defense, too concerned with wasting the money he’s earned.

Roughly midway through, Vergil gets into a rant about the effects of late stage capitalism, and how this game isn’t meant to be fun, it’s meant to be disheartening. _**To crush spirits.**_

“This information is crushing my spirit,” Dante says as he, once again, hands money over to Lady.

“Nah, you’re crushed because you’re losing,” Nero answers.

The thing about Monopoly that the group either didn’t know or conveniently forgot is that it can, and often does, take _**hours**_ to complete, depending on the intensity. And this game goes on for so long, Dante orders pizza and _no one_ complains.

Dante swears he had more Monopoly money left, but Lady snatches it all from him and counts it out as they all stare.

Poor even in Monopoly, Dante loses it all to Lady who claims there’s a rule about accrued interest. He demands to see the rulebook but she tucks it into her shirt, eyes locked on his. Dante is neither brave nor rude enough to pursue further, although he _does_ throw his head back and groan like a 42-year-old child.

With Dante bankrupt, Nero makes his way into jail for the fifth time before he stands up and says he’s had enough. Too competitive and sensing he’s on the brink of losing, he folds before he can have his ass handed to him by Vergil, who is absolutely 100% targeting him specifically.

Nero steals a slice of pizza straight from Dante’s hands as recompense. (And to distract himself from his frustration by riling up the man he looks up to for entertainment.)

Vergil and Lady continue for roughly another hour. Lady drops snide comments but Vergil refuses to take the bait, only ever offering the occasional raise of his brow or a roll of his eyes. Yet for all of his composure, Dante notices Vergil’s stack of money dwindling. Further. And further.

“Luck’s not on your side, Blue Twin,” Lady says as she opens her palm. “Cough it up.”

When Vergil hands over the last of it, Lady rises. She stands in front of her claimed chair, crosses her arms, and looks the picture of Rightfully _Smug_.

“ _So_. Change of plans, guys,” she says when she has their attention. “You _all_ owe me dinner. Separately. Whenever and whatever I want. Anyone have a problem with that?” 

No one argues.

Lady _**always**_ wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was SO much fun.
> 
> If you've enjoyed, it would mean a lot to me if you left kudos/commented! Reader interaction is what I live for.
> 
> As always, if you'd like to see more, take a peek at my Tumblr @[butcherknives](http://butcherknives.tumblr.com). I fill requests and drop my writing there. (It's also full of shenanigans.) Additional headcanons and analyses are there, also.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
